The Last
by Wren Sharpbeak
Summary: One-shot. Future Fic. Completely unrelated to my long-running series of 'Fire' stories.


**Disclaimer: **the characters and places in the following work of fan-fiction are the intellectual property of Nickelodeon and, as such, they reserve the right to remove this story at their sole discretion

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Aang gazed solemnly out the window of the Southern Air Temple at the dying light of day. The sounds of children being called to their dorms echoed through the halls, and the chattering of lemurs settling into the treetops for an evening meal filled the dusky air. But the familiar din brought the twenty-eight year old Avatar no comfort. 

For this day, the sun would set on a home that contained one less life than when it rose.

The Avatar's faithful lemur companion of sixteen years, who survived the trials of war and the tumultuous reclaiming of peace afterward, was finally gone.

It's not that Aang didn't see it coming. Lemurs rarely lived more than 20 years after all, and he had no idea how old Momo was when he found him. And the spunky creature had certainly been showing indications of his old age; the flecks of grey through the black mask around green eyes slightly dulled with cataracts, a tendency to sleep more than fly, and displaying considerably less appetite than the voracious eating machine that used to be rivaled only by Sokka.

True, the lemur had lived a very full and very happy life, and by all the teachings Aang had ever had, he knew that this event should not be looked upon with sorrow. But despite this fact, and even though the signs had all been there, even though Aang had tried to prepare himself for this eventuality, nothing could lessen the emptiness Momo's passing had left.

A gentle breeze whispered into the room, frolicking with a set of crystal wind chimes nearby and sending diamond shaped rainbows skittering along the wall. But this time, Momo was not there to chase them.

Aang stared at the prismatic patterns for several long moments before walking over to the jingling riot of light and color. Reaching up a hand, he stilled their carefree dance, holding the fragile shards in his fingers with all the care and delicacy that one might handle a butterfly, as he closed his eyes and hung his head.

A moment later, it littered the floor in a thousand shattered pieces.

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As the days wore on, Aang's restlessness did not abate. And although he went about his duties at the temple, carrying on and doing those things that needed to be done, his heart just wasn't in it. And if anyone noticed the times he would reach up to steady the aging lemur who no longer rode on his shoulder, no one mentioned it. 

In the quiet hours of twilight, he would stare out his window and wonder. How many more nights would he toss and turn before he became accustomed to putting his feet in the space that Momo used to occupy in his bed? When would he finally stop setting aside the juiciest peach at dinner to take back to his room for Momo's midnight snack?

The day after Momo's passing, one of the other monks had ventured the suggestion that Aang take on a new lemur companion. The renewed air bender culture had gone to great lengths to revive their past traditions and, unlike Momo, this new generation of lemurs were at least properly _trained _and would fetch glider staves dropped by sleeping air benders on their bison. Surely, that would be more helpful than-

The door had slammed with a gust of wind into the poor monk's face.

Why couldn't they understand that it wasn't about having a _pet_? Momo had been so much _more_ than that. Momo had been…._family_. And all the pretty words about spirits living on to return again some day did nothing to fill the empty void that Aang was feeling _now_, on _this_ day…and all the days that would linger after.

It wasn't about having a pet, because Momo was never just that. He was Aang's kindred spirit, his coconspirator and in-the-nick-of-time savior, his confidant and mentor. And during those long, hard months when hope seemed all but gone from the world, when the burden of destiny weighed so heavily on Aang's too-young shoulders, Momo had been perched there to help carry the load.

And it was during that time that Momo, like Aang, had been the _last_. And the last is just that; something that can never, _ever_, be replaced….or forgotten.

_In loving memory of Roxy. Born March 1991 – Died January 22, 2008._

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Author's note:** I've had a number of people tell me over the course of the last year (and more adamantly over the past two days) that I should be writing only for myself. And while I've always maintained that such an endeavored seemed pointless to me, I decided, just this once, to give it a try. 

I do not anticipate or expect any response to this because, unlike my series where reader input is a critical part in providing focus to the story, _this_ was written for no purpose other than to work through my personal grief.

I actually didn't realize how much I needed to get this off my chest until I broke down and told someone. Only then did I realize I had not been giving myself a chance to deal with what I've recently lost. Moms have to be strong, you know?

I wasn't going to share it with anyone, but in light of my recent diatribe about reviews, which has led to many readers feeling justifiably disgruntled with me, I decided to go ahead and post it. Who knows, maybe it will give people some insight into where I am at right now. Not that this serves as any excuse, but it might lend some small explanation to my over-emotional condition of late.

And for those of you who may be curious, Roxy was the family dog.


End file.
